


and then there is limbo

by reefofhappiness



Category: Glee
Genre: Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 07:47:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reefofhappiness/pseuds/reefofhappiness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of how Mike and Matt fell hopelessly in love.  This is, alternatively, also the story of the several times when Mike thought he was dying – and Matt did too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and then there is limbo

**Author's Note:**

> Please remember that my Glee fic was written between S1 and S2. This was a fill for a prompt on an angst meme (which called for Mike/Matt against the world, and further suggested abusive Mr. Chang) and written prior to the increased characterization of Mike himself and the addition of his parents, so the Mr. and Mrs. Chang you will see in this story are fan created characters and in no way based on canon. (Though what really is canon, continuity, and characterization for Glee by this point, haha am I right or am I right? *insert rimshot*) Alright, I'll simmer down. Oh yes – I forgot until I edited this, but this piece is also dated by the fact that I mentioned Sam/Kurt in passing ha ha ha.
> 
> I make intentional heavy use of nonlinear narration, but you should be able to work out the general (if not month-specific) timeline due to clues. In short, is this piece a bit dramatic and have its weak points? Yes. But do I dearly love it and am wholly unapologetic for it? Absolutely.

_Ah but in the end_ – Mike thinks fuzzily, lying on the floor and staring dazedly up at the ceiling. He’s been really into English Lit this year, so he’s expecting screaming shadows, flashes of his life before his eyes, ominous and telltale rain and telltale hearts and so many other symbolic things. But really, here he is, slowly dying on the carpet in the living room, sunbeams filtering through half closed blinds.

 

-

 

Mike, when he thinks back on it, will say the moment he falls in love with Matt is probably when they sit together in Matt’s bathroom one July night, Matt using tweezers to meticulously pull out thin shards of glass from the bottom of Mike’s foot. The glass is from a cup that Dad threw at him, and he missed but Mike ended up getting grabbed by the arm and dragged through it anyway.

It is a summer love thing, something Mike is afraid of, something that will die down as the months get colder. But then he realizes, hey, no (Matt pulls him close with a laugh to pull a skullcap on his head, then shoves him away with grin. Mike grins back and bumps their shoulders together and they don’t move apart, walk down the sidewalk shoulder to shoulder, the straight lines of their bodies pressed together and they walk into the fierce November wind blowing against them. Yeah, no, this is more than a summer fling, Mike will find out in the months to come). They’re more than that.

Because even though Mike’s stupidly oblivious, Matt has probably always loved him, from the sandbox to middle school homeroom together to right now in the Rutherfords’ bathroom with antiseptic and cotton balls and tiny bits of bloody glass.

 

-

 

Mike kisses Matt for the first time in August, shy and quick. Matt’s carefully sticking a bandaid on his right cheek, so concentrated and deliberate that Mike can’t help the way their foreheads gravitate together, the way he strokes Matt’s cheek once, twice, gently with his fingers so sensitive to the touch that he is tingling down to his toes, and then he leans in. Kisses Matt, flushes, but doesn’t back down.

Matt seems hesitant at first, glances towards the closed bathroom door. But then it all catches up to him and he carefully kisses Mike back, and Mike thinks, _oh_ and _you make me feel safe_.

 

-

 

Mike feels like he keeps clarifying to Matt that, no, his dad really isn’t cruel and heartless. He’s already spent years clarifying this to himself, because really, he’s not. There’s always been _learn from this, don’t be stupid like that again_ , and _get to your room, I don’t want to look at you right now_ tucked in the subtext of Dad grabbing Mike and throwing him at and halfway up the stairs. Words like _the world is cruel_ and _I am the head of this house_ silently tucked in between a slap and a shove to the floor. His dad is just strict, believes in punishment and fearful respect to build the family correctly, that everyone has their place and he is at the top. He doesn’t shout things when he punishes Mike or his mom because he’s not angry. He’s just teaching them a lesson, because it’s what he does.

“That is abuse,” Matt hisses, pressing a cold pack to Mike’s swollen eye. “How can you believe in that just because he doesn’t talk while he’s doing it?”

Mike shrugs and hides the disappointed twist of his mouth in the fabric of his turtleneck sweater. Because this is how it is, because Dad is nice when he wants to be, because Dad is Dad and he can be kind, Mom reminds him, he was kind when they met and dated. When they first had Mike. But Matt can’t understand that, and Mike doesn’t get why.

“I love you,” Matt confesses as he presses just a little bit harder with the cold pack, before leaning in to kiss Mike breathless. 

Mike kisses back and thinks of _that is unnatural, that is not love_ hidden in a punch to the eye. Says, “Happy New Year,” back instead of returning the sentiment because somewhere in him his dad is lurking saying _don’t you dare_ and Mike doesn’t.

 

-

 

When Mike blinks to, he realizes that he may have blacked out for an unspecified amount of time, because he’s still on his back staring at the ceiling, but the sunbeams are fading into red sunset and he can hear Matt screaming at his mother in the kitchen.

“You have to get out of this house, your son is laying in the other room, just, _dying_ – ” 

“He’s fine,” Mom says wearily. “This isn’t new, he’s fine, just a little banged up – ” 

Mike’s glad she doesn’t say _it’s your fault_ to Matt, though she might think it, Mike can’t tell. He checks his temples carefully with his fingers. One’s banged up, swelling rapidly and that can’t be good. There’s no blood though, no heavy and angry hands crushing his windpipe, so he’s not dying after all. He sits up, pushing up with his good arm, trembles at the wave of dizziness, then swallows thickly and calls into the kitchen, “I’m okay, no one’s dead.”

Matt rushes out, eyes wide and cell phone in his hand. Mike knows that, if the display were on, he’d see his own text of _i think he’ll kill me_ blinking morbidly up at the world, sent forty minutes ago in panic, as Dad banged on the door, twenty seconds before he got the master key and let himself into Mike’s bedroom.

“You weren’t moving, I didn’t want to touch you in case of spinal injuries, you shouldn’t – ” Matt rambles, now he’s the panicked one and Mike, Mike’s just okay.

“I’m alright,” he reassures Matt, drawing his knees to his chest and fingers on that lump on his temple again. “Like Mom says, just a little banged up.”

Matt shakes his head at Mike, swiping an angry hand over his face for tears, though he pretends that’s not it. Mike knows him too well to be tricked.

 

-

 

When Mike thinks of sex, he thinks of harsh breathing and red lights and vicious hands on hips that leave bruises. When he first tells Matt this, over the plastic cup rim of hot chocolate with a festive cinnamon stick (because the nurses are endearingly full of holiday cheer), Matt assumes the worst.

“Mike,” Matt’s voice is low and dangerous and he grabs Mike’s hand sitting on top of the scratchy hospital blankets. “It’s one thing for me to look past physical abuse. If he’s – if there’s _sex_ – ”

Mike laughs, which he probably shouldn’t because it’s not funny, but the notion is so ridiculous it’s all he can think to do. “Dad can’t even say the word gay without getting angry, there’s no way he’d rape his own _fag_ son.” Matt glares, disapproving all the same.

The thing is, when Mike thinks of sex, he thinks of his mother, wilted in on herself on the couch, sighing as she wears her robe, purples and blues blooming across her cheeks from bruises, lips crusting over bloody, and when she stands at the sight of Mike to make breakfast, angry scratches peek out at him from the very top of her cleavage.

He doesn’t tell that part to Matt, who just thinks the violence has bled into every aspect of his psyche, just like his blood has bled all over Matt’s bathroom over all these years.

 

-

 

When Mike has sex for the first time it’s not at all like he’s imagined. It’s not poetic or beautiful, it’s just messy and vaguely disgusting. There’s Matt, kissing his navel, and that’s his favorite part, and then Matt’s pressing a finger into him and Mike tenses and Matt stops. The problem with them is that Matt is afraid to hurt Mike, Matt is afraid to become the bad guy, and he keeps sweeping his hands, gentle and regretful, over the bruises on Mike’s body, over the notable scar on his thigh, still pink, raw, new tissue. And Mike is just pliable, just lays there and waits and doesn’t reassure Matt that his worst fears won’t come true. He’s kind of inconsiderate like that, by being a whole lot of passive and a small bit aggressive. Passive aggressiveness is his most prized character trait after all; he’s mastered it over the years and can use it in so many ways.

“Hurry up,” Mike urges, and he realizes his voice is cold and that, deep down, he’s trying to hurt Matt with this, that that’s what sex is to him, hurting someone in ways they don’t like but can’t stop, “It’s January in Ohio, the heaters don’t get hot enough to stop the cold from getting in and we’re naked.”

It’s really funny, Mike thinks, that even though it hurts like hell for him, unprepared and not enough lube and too many limbs and not enough knowing what to do on both their parts, Matt’s the one who’s silently crying into his shoulder in the aftermath.

He pats Matt’s arm, wrapped around his midsection as they spoon, and just shudders against the soft touch of Matt rubbing his fingers absent mindedly over the new scar on his thigh.

 

-

 

They already aren’t very dramatic and don’t tend to bring focus to themselves, so keeping their relationship a relative secret isn’t difficult. Kurt is the first to notice, in October, and only because there’s rum in the punch at Santana’s Halloween party and they get just tipsy enough to slip out back and make out in a dark alcove in the Lopez’s vegetable garden.

Kurt’s taking a stroll with Sam in the garden because those two are hopeless romantics who think cute and good intentions make it far in this world, and they step on Mike’s back in between the rows of cabbages. He groans and rolls off of Matt, sits up and squints at them, trying to decide if he needs to play up the drunk _oh dude shit I thought you were a chick_ act depending on who it is. He sees Kurt, then Sam, looks at Matt slowly sitting up and wiping Mike’s spit off his chin, and then sends the other two a challenging glance.

“Oh,” Kurt says, surprised, then appraising. His lips press into a tight line when he remembers Mike’s wrist, and he grits out, “Matt,” to reprimand him.

“I’m not a fragile doll, I can straddle dudes and make out with them if I want to, even with a sprained wrist,” Mike shoots back (doesn’t mention how his dad pushed him at the top of the stairs _don’t miss curfew again_ and Matt should never know that a date with him led to how Mike sprained his wrist in the first place, and just no way he’s a fragile doll to begin with) and Matt reaches over and ruffles his hair to shut him up.

“I know,” Matt reminds Kurt with a somewhat heavy tone. “Don’t you think I _know_?”

Kurt stares at them, thinking, but then Sam shyly slips his hand into Kurt’s and the matter is dropped. Mike waves them off with the hand with the wrist in the brace, just to rub it in their faces that he’s a big boy and can make all the bad decisions he wants.

 

-

 

Mike’s pretty sure Kurt tells Mercedes, who tells Quinn, who tells Finn, who tells Rachel, who tells the rest of the glee club, and all right, that’s just how their friends work, they understand Lima enough to not go blabbering to the rest of the school. And they understand Mike and Matt, as a unit, as best friends and as boyfriends, enough to know that Mike? The kid who always has injuries somewhere? Yeah, doesn’t need anymore drama in his life on top of everything else.

The freedom is exhilarating to Mike, though. During warm ups, Mike can hold Matt’s hand, can rest his head on Matt’s shoulder if he’s tired or hurting because Dad had a bad day yesterday.

_Boy you better not mess this up_ he catches Mercedes mouthing at Matt across the choir room. Matt nods in the affirmative as Tina tries shaking her fist threateningly at him and Mike leans forward and waves to let them know he sees them.

It’s kind of aggravating, they don’t know half the story behind his life – Matt just barely understands and doesn’t entirely accept it when he knows it all – and they try to pile pity and sympathy on him. He’s given up telling them that he loves his dad, that his dad loves him and his mom and this is just his way, because how can Mike explain a lifetime in a few minutes, especially when they’re just stuck thinking it’s wrong wrong wrong?

 

-

 

Mike remembers thinking _ah we got it_ mid April because this time – oh _this_ time – 

Matt’s got it (keeps his lips pressed to the crook of Mike’s neck the whole time, a place so intimate, too intimate, and yet it’s just smooth clean expanse of skin and that just turns Mike _on_ ), and Mike’s got it (whispers, once, “It’s okay, I like this,” and runs his right hand along the sturdy line of Matt’s shoulder over and over again to prove that he’s not just taking more abuse from somewhere else in his life), and Mike comes with a tiny content sigh because he only asks for this little piece of happiness, for this one little thing in the whole wide world.

They sit together on the edge of the bed as Mike pulls on his jeans because he has to get home before his dad assumes the worst, that his gay son is off with his gay boyfriend and having gay sex. Which is true, but Mike doesn’t need physicality of whatever punishment his dad can dish out to tell him as much.

There is nothing but silence between them, Matt in just his underwear helping Mike pull his shirt on awkwardly over the cast on the left arm, and then Matt leans over and buries his face in Mike’s back. “Why don’t you stay?” He tries, once again not willing to let go. “Why don’t you not go back, my mom would understand. Really.”

Mike smiles, a little sadly, a little fondly, because they’ve been here in this conversation before. “No Matt. You know I can’t.”

The noise Matt makes, strangled and in his throat, says so much that he doesn’t. _Why not_ and _Yes you can_ and _I can make you_. But no, Mike can’t and Matt can’t do anything about it and Matt really does know why, deep down.

 

-

 

There is the Winter Ball that has just as much meaning to some families as the Chastity Ball and yet lacks the importance to the whole student body that Homecoming and Prom hold. The jocks, however, are expected to go, to make it cool, to make it an exclusive thing as opposed to a failed dance.

Kurt and Sam are going together and Mike figures, if Sam can’t even come to terms with his sexuality yet and is going publically with another boy, then he and Matt can do it too. He’s kind of reaching a point where he doesn’t give a shit what people think about him, life is too short and there’s too much else to care about to worry if people don’t approve that he puts all he feels in and gets all he needs from Matt, who happens to be another boy.

This, it turns out, is not a smart move.

Well, at first everyone assumes Matt and Mike are going stag together, which is fine really, if they don’t ask then Mike won’t tell. He and Matt work out an agreement where, if someone does ask, seriously and not as a joke, as an easy gay joke as many of the jocks are apt to do, then they’ll tell the truth. If not, then let the assumptions lie where they are made. 

The part that makes this stupid is that there is a slow song and they dance together. And that starts making heads turn and people whisper and whatever, Mike rests his head on Matt’s shoulder and just breathes and breathes in his cologne and calmness.

The night ends without any trouble, everyone’s a lot more into Brittany and Santana dirty dancing together than Matt and Mike slow jamming, but then the local paper comes out the next week and the Winter Ball makes front page; Lima’s _tiny_ , after all.

Mike and Matt are in the picture in the background, behind Santana and Puck slow dancing because those two are an attractive couple worthy of front page coverage. And Mike knows the editor of the paper didn’t do it on purpose, because who in Lima wants to look at two gays on the front cover? But there they are, noticeable after few glances, once the eyes trail off the main focus. And maybe people will assume they were kidding. Maybe people won’t care. But it’s not _people_ Mike’s worried about.

Matt sends him a text _mom saw paper w/ us dancing told her we r dating shes fine r u ok?_ And Mike takes three seconds to think about this and about what his dad is going to say and more importantly what he’s going to say back before he realizes that standing in the middle of the kitchen with the mail and the newspaper isn’t going to save him any more than lying to his father is. He tucks his phone in his pocket and turns, intent on hiding it somewhere and hoping no one at Dad’s workplace sees it and recognizes him and brings it up, and comes face to face with his father, sipping soda out of a can. 

Mike blinks up at him helplessly and all thoughts come to a stop. Dad briefly glances at the mail and paper in his hands and holds out his own for it and Mike just gives it over without a fight and waits, arms by his side, for the inescapable.

He knows when Dad sees it because he puts his can down. “Is this you in this picture, acting stupid with your friend?”

Mike looks obediently at the floor. “It’s me with Matt. You know, Matt? The guy who’s been my best friend since birth?”

“Right, so this is you acting stupid with him in public.”

Mike’s blood boils, just a little, and he shifts uncomfortably. “We’re not acting _stupid_ – ”

There is a backhand slap across his cheek that says _you represent this family at all times_. “I wouldn’t call this smart. You look ridiculous.” His dad’s voice is thin, impatient, annoyed. Mike doesn’t know what his facial expression is, he won’t look up from the floor to see.

“Dad,” Mike says, suddenly pleading because if there is just one thing his father can’t stand and yet one thing Mike wants him to accept, it’s this homosexuality thing, it’s this relationship with Matt. “Dad, we’re dating. We’re not messing around in that picture, we’re dancing to a slow song because we’re dating.”

There is silence, there is no reaction, and Mike wills himself to look up at him. And when he sees the flickering in Dad’s eyes, of disbelief, of rage welling up from deep inside of him, and Mike thinks, oh, his dad will kill him, he needs to go. Now. _Now_.

Mike backs up, Dad is standing in the way of the only exit, and he just wants some space between them, some time to figure out how he’ll get out when Dad attacks.

The movement jostles Dad into motion though, and he swoops down on Mike with a punch to the same slap-stung cheek. Mike reels back, seeing black spots in his vision, and then Dad’s got him by the throat, throwing him into the counter edge. _You will be normal_ Mike hears in this violence, _this is unacceptable and wrong_.

Mike remembers a time when his mom would come running at the sounds of struggle in the kitchen. Now she stays away to make sure her disobedience doesn’t anger him further.

Mike’s dizzy and there’s a line of skin scraped away from the very top of his hip where he’s slammed and rebounded off the counter. He feels something wet splash into his face and the hollow sound of air whizzing through aluminum explains that the stinging in his eyes? That’s soda.

“Dad – ” Mike gasps, “Please – ”

There are years of experience and learning that have taught Mike not to talk during punishment, it only makes it worse. There are months of watching Matt tolerate his issues with a desperate kind of love that makes him forget that. His dad has his chin in one hand, thumb bruising right under his lip, and the other hand is rummaging through drawers for another weapon, one that will make this very important lesson stick. 

He stares in Mike’s eyes, searching for an apology, for an understanding that being gay will not be tolerated. Mike doesn’t offer one, refuses to back down over this, and finds himself wincing, biting back a scream as Dad slices into the inside of his thigh, right through the denim of his jeans, with a knife.

Dad draws away, disgusted, and glares at Mike sagging heavily onto the counter for support. “Clean yourself up,” he spits, then turns and leaves Mike there to do something about the knife halfway stuck in his leg.

_not ok_ Mike texts back to Matt after he can swallow the tears and the alarm. He knows not to pull the knife out, in case it’s plugging massive blood loss, doesn’t know how deep the knife is and if he can even walk. He knows his text will have Matt jumping in the car with his parents to get him. And knows Matt and Mr. and Mrs. Rutherford will let him lie to the doctors and say that he got in a fight with some thug on the outskirts of town – and it gets so dark so early in the winter that he didn’t see who it was.

He leans against the counter and breathes deeply to regulate his heartbeats, nods grimly at his mom when she comes looking to check on him, and she understands that means he’s got it covered.

“I’m sorry,” she says, because they know they can’t go in together and look like the domestic abuse case they really are. Because then Mike will be taken by the state and Mom will be dead before the week is up.

 

-

 

Mike sneaks out the Rutherfords’ bathroom window, because Mr. Rutherford has been sleeping on the couch in the living room to make sure no one breaks in through the front door. ‘No one’ meaning Mike’s dad, but nobody’s listening to Mike saying that that’s not what Dad will do.

He knows Dad won’t come looking. He expects Mike to come back, and if he doesn’t then Mike’s more afraid that Mom won’t be able to get out.

And that’s why he’s slipping through the window in only a t-shirt and jeans, light and easy to move in, and carefully lowering himself onto the branch that’s right under it, even with his left arm still useless in its sling. When his feet are both firmly planted on the tree branch, he pushes off the window and falls against the trunk of the tree and clings so he doesn’t fall sideways and out the tree and break his neck. The rest of the climb down is hard and time consuming, but as soon as Mike is close enough to the ground, only four feet up, he jumps and lands in a wobbly, off-balanced crouch. He stays crouched in the dew wet grass, listening to the sounds of the night. 

No one calls his name, there are no sounds of the front door slamming open and Matt running out to get him, just crickets and a cat yowling two houses down. Mike stands and runs, awkward as it is with his broken arm, all the way home, determined.

 

-

 

Everyone knows they are dating and a few of the guys make a big deal of it in the locker room, but Mike’s always been harmless and nice to everyone and everyone kind of notices that he’s hurt all the time. And there are rumors and just, Mike assumes no one really wants to be the one to beat up the Asian kid who may or may not be getting beat up already at home on a regular basis.

“I know you said your mom was okay with it,” Mike brings up during glee, because there is nowhere else he would talk about relationship problems outside of the Rutherford household. “But is she really? And your dad, too.”

Rachel pretends to not be listening, but her back goes very straight and still. Finn ruins her façade by peeking over his shoulder to frown with worry at them. Mike rolls his eyes and pokes him in the back with his crutches.

“Tell your girlfriend,” Mike says lightly. “That I’m practically healed up and ready to walk again, so I’ll be up to dancing par by next month, promise.”

“That’s not what she’s worried about and you know it,” Matt hisses. “No one is.”

Mike just raises an eyebrow at him and taps his fingers impatiently against his crutches. “So? How are your parents about us?”

Matt sighs bitterly and shrugs. “They’re fine. They weren’t expecting it but – ” he hesitates but swallows and goes on. “I mean, after we took you to the emergency room for a knife in your _thigh_ , I’m pretty sure they got over it. I mean, it’s _you_ , Mike. We grew up together. They’re already practically your in-laws.”

And he’s afraid that that’s going to hurt Mike, that Matt’s parents so easily accept while one of his own stabs him over the disagreement, except it doesn’t hurt at all. Mike’s had doctors snap a knife in half still stuck in his leg and cut into his flesh and muscle to retrieve old cheap metal, it takes a lot more than that to hurt him.

 

-

 

After the second time Matt finds Mike on the living room floor and his mom unwilling to say more than _he’s fine_ , Matt forces Mike to leave the house.

“No way, we have finals, we have sports uniforms to turn in, and I can’t just pack everything in my room into a duffel bag.” Mike argues. He doesn’t want to bring up again that he can’t leave his mom. He just can’t think about the possibilities of where this conversation is going.

Matt shakes his head. “Is that the mild concussion talking? You can borrow my notes and anyone else’s _anything_ you need. And you’ll study better at my place because there’s no one knocking you around because you’re dating a guy. Or because you’re standing in the wrong place at the wrong time, alive.”

Mike stays silent. He doesn’t want to leave, there’s a solution in all of this, somewhere, a way to make Dad understand and just let him be, and whatever that elusive solution is, it’s not this. It’s just not.

“I’ll go to the police,” Matt resorts to big guns and Mike’s brain, Mike’s heart, it all just freezes. “I’ll give them eyewitness accounts and everything and then you’ll really never come back. Please leave with me and stay and we’ll figure out a way to save your mom. Promise.”

So Mike goes up to his room and packs a duffel in five minutes and comes back downstairs without a word, but not because he believes that bullshit. He tells his mom he’s sleeping over at Matt’s for a study party for finals, won’t be back till all the tests are done, and leaves her to deal with Dad’s impending fury when he won’t come back at the end of the week after testing is over, because he knows Matt means what he says about the police. And maybe they can come up with a way to get Mom out in a week, but they probably won’t and then Mike will think of something else.

He’s not mad, he gets that Matt is just so lost and not sure what to do, that he wants Mike by his side to fight this battle fair. But it’s not fair to start with and his dad has all the advantages and they’re just screwed, together in this world against them and that’s life.

 

-

 

“This is an intervention,” Rachel says professionally, with Finn slouching behind her and trying to look supportive. Mike wonders if it is with irony that she’s doing this on Valentine’s Day. “Mike, we’re worried.”

He turns to Matt, betrayed, but Matt looks just as displeased with the situation as he feels. Mike would rather be back in seventh block struggling through the dramatics of _Frankenstein_ than the dramatics of his friends. He thought Mr. Schue needed him for something, why else would he be called out of class to the choir room?

Mike laughs stiffly, tries what he knows won’t work. “Why? I kept my promise, I’m ‘up to dancing par’ now. No crutches.”

“Guys,” Matt tries as well, really a very sweet endeavor, but Mike knows a losing battle when he sees one. “I’m warning you one last time. Don’t.”

Quinn ignores him and takes Mike’s left hand, probably because she knows he’d yank away if he could and so goes for the broken arm he can’t move to give comfort, and her eyes are just a little teary. “Mike, you’ll end up dead.”

“You don’t know,” he challenges.

“Actually,” Artie replies. “Basing it on statistics alone, we do. And then if we just look at all your injuries…Mike, your arm is broken. He stabbed you a few months back. You just got off crutches from that before he put you in a cast. It can’t get much worse before death.”

Mike decides to say nothing in response to that.

Brittany sidles next to him and leans her head on his shoulder and she _is_ crying. “Mike,” she says. “Mike, I don’t want to lose you.” Santana just glares at Mike, as if this is a situation where she can threaten him for making Brittany cry and he’ll stop.

“It’s not that easy,” he wearily explains. “It’s really not.”

There’s nothing Mike can say to all his friends to assure them that this will be okay. They refuse to believe it and Matt’s only being there for Mike as silent back up, even though he agrees with the others.

Kurt looks torn and stays silent, while Mercedes does not. “You have to get out Mike. This is life or death. Even if you’re used to it, it’s not normal.”

Puck slouches in his seat, and Mike sees a tic in the vein in his forehead as he speaks. “Look Mike, I’m really familiar with sucky dads. And yours takes it to a whole ‘nother level.”

It’s like they think they can convince him if they all speak to him and tell him things and hold his hand and coddle him. But that’s not it at all. “I want both my parents, okay guys?” 

And they don’t understand what he means. “How does that even work?” Tina points out, “I mean, your dad – ”

Matt puts a soft hand on Mike’s knee, but Mike bristles anyway. “Think about it. If he gets mad and does this to me and my mom when we don’t obey him, and then I _leave_ – the most disobedient thing I could _ever_ do – then what do you think he’ll do to my mom?”

Kurt swallows and looks over Mike’s head instead of directly at him. “That’s what I thought it was,” he admits grimly. “He’ll kill her, and that’s why you stay.”

Mike nods, still not looking at all of their worried faces. “Yeah. Exactly.”

 

-

 

Matt feels guiltier than guilt itself about Mike’s arm, but he really shouldn’t. Mike is the one who took the risk.

How it happens is that Matt’s dropping him off after dinner at Breadsticks and Mike’s feeling bold, safe, and Matt brings out the best in him. Matt walks with him up on the porch then starts to leave with a wave, but Mike grabs him and pulls him close. Mike breathes in his scent and feels content right here right now, leans in for a kiss.

“We shouldn’t,” Matt whispers before their lips crash together. Mike laughs quietly into his mouth. He doesn’t care.

The kiss ends and they part, but only just barely, are close enough to breathe each other’s air and Mike doesn’t want to go in the house, he wants to stay here forever.

The porch light flicks on and Matt jumps away, in attempt to make this less incriminating, but Mike is resigned and his dad is storming out onto the porch: he’s seen enough to be furious.

Matt tugs on Mike’s arm, he wants Mike to get in the car with him and drive away, out of here and out of Lima and far away from people who want to kill them because they’re together. Mike won’t move, shoves Matt away because he doesn’t want Dad to get any ideas and try to hurt Matt.

“Go home,” Dad hisses as he grabs Mike by the throat and drags him halfway through the doorway. “You go home and leave my son alone.”

Matt’s voice is trembling, but he stands strong. “No. Don’t – don’t hurt him for – ”

Mike’s legs are kicking wildly because Dad’s looking at Matt like he’s dog shit on the bottom of his shoe, his teeth are bared and he might lunge at Matt and just no, Matt is completely separate from this, this part of life is Mike’s alone and Matt can peek in at it but he can’t handle it and be a part of it. Dad yanks him again and Mike stumbles, still kicking, gripping onto the doorway with one hand, and there’s too much flurry of movement to know exactly what happens but the glass storm door comes slamming closed, right on Mike’s left arm. There is a definite snap and Mike howls in pain and Dad yanks and shoves him completely into the house.

Mike looks up, dazed from pain, crumpled on the floor, to see Matt’s stricken face behind the glass. Dad says, “Stay away or else,” and slams the front door closed.

Dad then turns on him and Mike lets his eyes shut, with the small thought of _a thousand times I would have shed my own blood_ – because he’s been reading _Frankenstein_ for class and he’s pretty sure that line’s somewhere in there. Recalling passages from a gothic classic doesn’t soften the kicks to his ribs, but he can try.

 

-

 

When Mike goes to the hospital with Mom, with the excuse that he fell on ice – because it _is_ early February, after all – it’s weird. Because Mike doesn’t normally sit under the fluorescent lights with her, the white of the walls and brightness of lights showing the wear of the years on her face and her expression. There’s a scar right along the line of her jaw and she catches him looking, just tries to smile and he tries to smile back but they’re both just grimacing, sitting under these soul baring lights.

When Mike goes to school two days later with a new green cast, Matt doesn’t see him until glee that afternoon and he grabs Mike and spins him around right in the middle of the room, right in front of everyone.

“I thought he killed you,” Matt sobs, unashamed, as he hugs him so so tightly that Mike can feel the need and the worry ebbing out of the edges of Matt’s exterior. “Like, really, I really really thought – oh my _god_.”

Mike sees everyone’s grave expressions over Matt’s shoulder, but ignores them as he pats Matt’s back with his one good hand. “No way,” Mike assures him. “Never.”

 

-

 

Mike stumbles into the choir room because he’s really not feeling too hot.

“Mike?” Matt is by his side in a second and Mike tries to shake him off. Hopes that the smell of vomit isn’t strong on his breath because he was throwing up two minutes ago in the bathroom.

“Are you okay, man?” Puck asks and Mike feels bad as he sort of sinks to the ground, unbalanced so the right side goes down first so he can catch himself with the working arm. The left one is in a sling now, but fat lot of good it still doesn’t do him. They’ve just had Regionals and they placed in third and they’re supposed to be partying before the cram for finals starts. And he can’t get it together and now everyone’s worrying.

Matt leans in and looks into his eyes and Mike’s probably not focusing completely on Matt like he’s trying. His ability to focus is kind of shot right now. 

“Did you go get checked out afterwards like you said you would?” Matt asks quietly.

Mike just shrugs and Matt huffs angrily. “Hey,” Mike says fiercely, “Hey, I iced the lump. I can administer first aid just fine.” And he points to the hidden bump on the back of his head, then points to the white gauze on his temple from the first living room incident too, as proof. But then he leaves his right hand hovering in the air and it’s shaking. He feels nauseous. He feels tired.

“Mike?” Mr. Schue asks carefully, “Can you tell me what happened?”

“No.” Mike bites off ruefully, immediately.

Matt stands and crosses his arms, trying to stay calm by disassociating with it all. “His dad choked him out and Mike fell and hit the back of his head on the coffee table. His mom called me to take him to the hospital when he didn’t get up.”

Mike avoids everyone’s eyes as that sinks in. “Well yeah,” he admits. “But I came to by the time Matt got there. Didn’t go. Didn’t need to go. I’m okay.”

“You might be concussed,” Rachel informs him immediately while everyone else just stares. “You should go to the nurse, just in case.”

Mike bites the inside of his cheek and refuses to answer that. And Matt snaps (with good reason, Mike will realize, he’s been dealing with this getting steadily worse and he’s trying so hard, as hard as Mike’s trying to push everyone away and handle it alone). 

“Second time, Mike!” Matt shouts. “Second time I find you passed out in the living room and you think it’s no big deal?”

“It’s really not,” Mike whispers. “Just leave it alone.”

And Matt looks at him like he can’t accept that. This is when Matt will start thinking up ways to force Mike into leaving, not that Mike knows yet. Not that Mike thinks he’ll do that yet.

“Go to the nurse,” Mr. Schue orders. “It’s too easy a thing to treat.”

He goes reluctantly and it turns out, yeah, it’s a concussion. He lies to the nurse and tells her that he just fell in his bedroom because it’s messy.

 

-

 

_i love you. i think the sun sets and rises for you and other deep meaningful shit. really._ Mike texts to Matt. He checks the time while he’s at it: nearly four in the morning. He presses send, then sneaks into the house using his key.

He doesn’t have a plan. He’ll get Mom. He’ll leave with her. He’ll face Dad and say _screw you old man stop killing us slowly, softly, purposely_ and leave. Except he knows that’s not how this will go, he’s never had the nerve to stand up to the silent rule of his father. Not ever, not now.

“Mike.”

He hears the quiet cool voice before he even makes it past the foyer. His dad is sitting on the couch, just waiting.

Mike blinks furiously, scared out of his mind, but he trains his eyes on his father with determination, steps into the living room and stands up straight. “Dad.”

He stands up off the couch and somehow looks so imposing in his pajamas, black exercise pants and a white shirt. “Where have you been? It’s June now. Finals have been over for, what, three, four days now?”

Mike swallows hard and tries not to choke on his words. Why is it so dark? Why has the sun not risen yet? He can’t do this in the dark, he can’t see straight as is. “What did you do to Mom while I was gone?”

And if Dad answered, it would be too much like a conversation. He reaches Mike in three long strides and strikes him down with a slap. Mike’s legs crumple with another blow to the head, the other temple, and his body’s so worn and beaten up by now that Mike isn’t sure how much more he can take.

Dad’s hands find their favorite spot, wrapped around his throat, and before Mike knows it he’s flat on his back on the floor again.

Dad takes one hand off his Adam’s apple bobbing furiously to slap him, again and again and again and again – 

Mike’s neck might snap. His nose is bleeding for sure. His vision is fading in and out.

There’s a jump in what Mike is there for and remembers, because he’s being slapped and then suddenly he’s coming to and Mom is crying and pulling Dad off him. Mike sees her, white gauze over one eye and so many bruises everywhere on her, and Mike feels horrible, like the worst son ever.

“Stop,” she screams. “Please, don’t!”

Dad gets off of Mike and grabs her, shakes her so hard that Mike feels the vibrations through the floor, and tosses her away. Slaps her as she slides down the wall with a whimper.

Mike doesn’t hear words in this anymore. He just sees cold heartless violence.

“Dad,” Mike struggles to stand, but he’s on his feet again and trying so hard to change this. “This is wrong – ”

His father grabs the remote controller off the coffee table as he remembers that he’s dealing with Mike, just quickly turns around and swings it. It catches Mike in the mouth and the iron taste of blood isn’t far behind. Mike stumbles, hand pressed to his mouth, so when the remote comes down again (and again. and again.) Mike goes down with nothing to break his fall. He lands with his left arm trapped between the floor and his stomach and pain shoots through him and Mike can’t get back up. He’s tired. He’s so sick of this.

There is the smell of carpet underlying the scent of the blood clotting in his nose, and then there is no more.

 

-

 

_Let me rot in my carpet graveyard_ Mike thinks as he comes to groggily. And he sees Matt’s shoes out the corner of his eye and murmurs something incoherent to let him know he’s alive.

Matt is crouched over him, rubbing his back, saying in a tight voice, “This isn’t right. I love you, but this isn’t okay, don’t you know that?”

Mike doesn’t know a lot of things. Right now, he doesn’t know where his mom is, where his dad is, doesn’t know how much time has passed with him facedown on the floor, doesn’t know if he’s dying or if it just feels like he is, doesn’t know what – in all his crappy life – he’s done to deserve Matt. Here Mike is, bleeding on the carpet, and all he can do is wonder how he can love Matt so so much and how Matt can love him back just the same.

_Ah but in the end_ – Mike thinks weakly, and in the end what? There’s him, there’s Matt, and that’s all he knows.

**Author's Note:**

> A few literary notes I left in the original document from three years ago: The few parts that read in direct chronological order are like that intentionally, so feel free to take that (and those four sections) as you see fit. Also I intentionally slightly misquoted the Frankenstein line (because Mike is desperately twisting those words).


End file.
